


Captain

by GeniaTheParadox



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, BDSM, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, M/M, Military Kink, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Public Sex, Smut, Spanking, well almost public sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeniaTheParadox/pseuds/GeniaTheParadox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock discovers an interesting new kink. But he needs more data.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had happened completely by accident. They had only been having sex for a couple of weeks, were still getting to know each other in that respect, and Sherlock had managed to hold it in until that particular night. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He was barely even aware he was speaking, what with John shagging him so vigorously into the mattress and his orgasm so painfully close. He hadn’t realised he’s said anything until the words were already spilling out of his mouth.

  
“Oh yes, sir... fuck me, sir... ohh, _Captain!”_

  
Lying in the afterglow with John’s arms wrapped around him, Sherlock felt mortified. He had called John ‘sir’ almost unconsciously, had screamed the word ‘Captain’ as he came all over his stomach; not John’s name, as he had done many times before, but... _Captain_. He had said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but he had no idea where the desire to do so had even come from. Somehow, referring to John by that title had actually made everything feel so much better, although Sherlock was at a loss as to why. At least John had been considerate enough to pretend like nothing untoward had happened. Sherlock wasn’t quite ready for this conversation yet.

  
The next morning, for the first time in a while, John wasn’t late for work. Usually Sherlock would be begging him to take a day off and stay in bed, or insisting on joining John in his morning shower, which always resulted in him having to get dressed at lightning speed, shovel down a quick breakfast and practically run out of the flat so he’d arrive at work on time. This morning, however, Sherlock let John get ready for work in peace, pretending to be asleep as his lover showered, shaved, got dressed and had breakfast without interruption.

  
“I’m off to work, love,” John finally whispered, rubbing Sherlock’s shoulder.

  
“Dull,” Sherlock mumbled into his pillow, squirming as John laughed and kissed to top of his head.

  
Sherlock listened hard until he heard the front door close downstairs, and then he was out of bed like a shot, wrapping himself up in the bed sheet as he couldn’t be bothered to get dressed. He needed a shower as he still smelt like sex, and his stomach was growling with hunger, but he had more important things to be doing than bathing or feeding himself. He padded into the living room, grabbing the first laptop he laid his hands on, which just so happened to be John’s. Sherlock curled up on his armchair, figuring out John’s new password in next to no time ( _use-your-own-bloody-laptop-sherlock_ , lower case and all one word). He had just opened up the search engine when his fingers stilled over the keyboard.

  
Sherlock had been thinking of what he needed to do all morning while he was pretending to sleep, but now he wasn’t sure where to start. Sex may not have alarmed Sherlock, but there was so much about it that he was still unfortunately very naive about. Thirty-odd years of self-enforced abstinence meant that Sherlock hadn’t ever explored his own sexuality. He didn’t really know the specifics of what turned him on. John was the first and only person he had ever had sex with and, being the more experienced one, John had always taken the lead in a gentle and cautious sort of way, in charge but never forceful or commanding.

  
But that’s what he wanted, Sherlock realised. He wanted John to be forceful. He wanted John to stop treating him like he was fragile, like he was made of glass that would shatter if his touch was anything more than a gentle caress. He wanted John to take charge like the Captain he was, to give orders and dole out punishments that Sherlock would accept with a dutiful “Sir, yes, sir.” Sherlock knew what he wanted, he just needed more data. With a deep breath, he typed ‘military fetish’ into the search engine and began his research.

  
Sherlock didn't move from his armchair for several hours, except to go to the bathroom and to wolf down a slice of toast and half a cup of tea so he felt a bit less faint. He had created an entire new room in the ‘John’ wing of his mind palace, filling it with his research. It wasn’t just military and uniform kinks, but bondage and spanking, submissives and dominants, sadomasochism and examples of healthy BDSM relationships. He read amateur erotica, watched countless videos, and browsed through websites that sold handcuffs, riding crops, ball gags, blindfolds, spanking paddles and restraints.

  
When Sherlock had finally finished his mind was buzzing with all the new and exciting information, and there was still half an hour before John was due to come home from work. Sherlock shut the laptop without bothering to close any of the pages he’d been looking at, uncurled himself from his armchair and made his way back to the bedroom. His research had left him more turned on than he’d been in a very long time, his prick rock hard between his legs and his skin already hot and flushed. He dropped the bed sheet carelessly on the floor and threw himself on the bed, spread out stark naked. He used to only masturbate occasionally, more out of necessity than for his actual pleasure. But now his imagination was running riot. He hardly noticed his hand wrapping around his erection, so lost as he was in his own fantasies.

  
Sherlock imagined himself kneeling on the floor of the bedroom, head bowed respectfully. On one of the websites he had browsed through, he had been particularly taken with a leather collar that had long silver chains at the back which attached to sturdy looking cuffs. Sherlock imagined himself wearing it, his arms behind his back, the cuffs feeling tight and secure around his wrists without being uncomfortable. There were already welts across his back from a riding crop and bright red hand prints on his arse cheeks. His punishment still hurt, stinging in a way that made Sherlock feel like he was on fire in the best possible way. He cock was painfully hard, curved against his stomach and dripping pre-come, completely untouched and a cock ring around the base. A strong hand twisted in his hair, tugging hard to make him look up at John – no, not John anymore. _Captain Watson_.

  
Sherlock shuddered at the sight of the Captain Watson of his imagination. He wore his army gear, tan t-shirt tucked into desert camouflage trousers, heavy boots laced up neatly and dog tags around his neck. He looked stern and calm, his fingers tangled tightly in Sherlock’s hair and his other hand working his trousers open.

  
“You know what to do, solider,” Captain Watson said, in the same clipped and commanding tone he had used to pull rank at Baskerville – that voice had excited Sherlock, though at the time he wasn’t sure why. “Put that mouth to good use for change, Holmes. And you’re going to swallow every drop of my come or it’s another ten lashes, do I make myself clear?”

  
“ _Yes, sir_ ,” Sherlock whispered, barely suppressing a shiver.

  
Sherlock could picture Captain Watson’s cock perfectly, long and thick – so much longer and thicker than the average for a man of his size – and absolutely mouth-watering. He felt that beautiful cock push into his mouth, right down his throat, and he imagined Captain Watson just holding him there for a while, his nose pressed right against the sandy pubic hair. Sherlock could feel that huge cock filling his mouth, could feel himself choking and gagging, swallowing around that length as he struggled to breathe and tears swam in his eyes.

  
But Sherlock’s imagination refused to stay on one image for too long. Suddenly he was in the living room, stood to attention beside Captain Watson, who sat very comfortably in his armchair with a cup of tea and a newspaper. Sherlock wore a different leather collar this time – a different one from a different website, which had a leash attached to the front that Captain Watson was holding loosely in his hand. Sherlock was still fully erect with a cock ring keeping him that way, only now he also had a rather sizable vibrating butt plug inside him on its very highest setting.

  
His orders were to not move or make a sound, and although Captain Watson appeared to be ignoring him completely, Sherlock didn't dare move a muscle, his hands balled into fists by his sides. He was so painfully close, so desperate to come, the vibrations of the plug feeling so good but not quite _enough._ Before he could stop himself he let out a deep, shaky moan. Captain Watson looked up in deep disapproval, a dangerous glint in his eye.

  
“On your knees,” he ordered, tugging harshly on the leash.

  
“Yes, sir,” Sherlock said, trembling as he did as he was told. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to...”

  
“ _Shut up_ ,” Captain Watson said slowly, dangerously, getting to his feet and grabbing the riding crop from the coffee table. He tugged hard on the leash until Sherlock was on his hands and knees on the floor, and proceeded to bring the riding crop down on Sherlock’s arse, whipping him until the detective had tears running down his face. The vibrations of the plug coupled with the pain, the wonderful, unbearable pain, were so good, so perfect, _oh yes, Captain Watson, this is just want I wanted, punish me, sir, punish me...._

  
Sherlock came with a shout, his orgasm taking him by surprise and rocking through his whole body until his back arched off the bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he had come so hard. And his imaginary John – his _Captain Watson_ – hadn’t even touched his cock. It took much longer than usual for him to recover, his heart racing and his limbs feeling like jelly, but eventually his body and his mind finally started to cooperate with each other and he stumbled off to the bathroom for a much needed shower.

  
By the time John arrived home, Sherlock was fully dressed and composed, lying on the sofa and thinking. John greeted him with a kiss on the forehead, before going to make himself a much needed cup of tea.

  
“So how’s your day been, love?” John asked as he potted around the kitchen.

Sherlock stared up at the ceiling, smirking to himself. “Uneventful.”

  
“Well, thanks for not destroying anything in a fit of boredom while I was out,” said John with a fond little chuckle. “I’m really not in the mood to clean up your mess.”

  
John came back into the living room with two steaming mugs of tea, leaving one on the coffee table for Sherlock before grabbing his laptop and sitting down on his armchair with a grateful sigh. He was just about to sign on to his blog so he could write up their latest case, when he tutted in frustration.

  
“Sherlock, you’ve been using my laptop again, I see.”

  
“I didn’t know where mine was,” said Sherlock with a nonchalant shrug.

  
“You could have at least shut it down properly, and closed down all these pages. I only just got it back from the repair shop after it got all those bloody viruses. What have you even been...?”

  
Sherlock looked at John as he sentence trailed off, gauging his reaction to all the websites he hadn’t bothered to close once he was finished with his research. John looked surprised, of course. But also, if Sherlock was not mistaken, uncomfortably aroused. It was time to test the water.

  
“I’ve been collecting data, John,” he said, standing suddenly to go and sit in his armchair. “I needed to research a few things about myself. Of course, all of that was merely theoretical data. What I really need is something more practical to draw from. And, as you may have already guessed, I will require your assistance with that.”

  
John cleared his throat awkwardly, tearing his eyes away from the laptop screen. “My, erm... my assistance?”

  
“Yes,” said Sherlock. “Call it an experiment. Last night after we had sex, you were courteous enough not to mention what I had called you, but I would like to further investigate what happened.”

“You mean when you called me Captain?” said John.

  
“Yes, when I called you _Captain_ ,” said Sherlock, lowering his voice to a register that he knew never failed to arouse John, and practically purring the last word. “After much research, I have come to the conclusion that I have a rather strong fetish for your military status – the title, the uniform, and so on – as well as a highly submissive nature and a desire to be dominated by you which, before last night, I had no idea existed within my psyche. I believe this newly discovered fetish of mine needs to be explored further.”

  
John raised his eyebrows, letting out an incredulously laugh. “Wow, so... you want me to dominate you?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“And what would that involve exactly?”

  
“You will give me orders as Captain Watson, and I will endeavour to obey them.”

  
John smirked. “Captain Watson?”

  
“I think there should be some distinction between you, my partner, and you, my dom. And as your sub, I will obey your orders in exchange for praise and rewards. Should I fail to follow your instructions, you will punish me. Preferably with a riding crop, but any other way you could think of would be fine. Pain is quite a large factor, but I have a very high threshold so you don’t have to worry about hurting me. Besides, you’re a doctor, so the aftercare should come easily to you. I’m also rather partial to restraints, and not entirely averse to the idea of being gagged or blindfolded, although I require some more practical data on that. While we play I will refer to you exclusively as ‘sir’ or ‘Captain’, and you may refer to me in any way you see fit. Oh, and if I begin to feel uncomfortable with anything we’re doing, I’ll use the safe word and we’ll stop immediately.”

  
“And the safe word is...?”

  
“Anderson. Ultimate mood killer. So, any thoughts, John?”

  
John looked as if he had too many thoughts to possibly begin to convey. Eventually he mumbled “No, I think you, erm... you covered it all rather... concisely. You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

  
“Of course I have.”

  
John closed the laptop and put it on the floor, taking a sip of his tea just so he would have a second more to think. Sherlock gave him the once over and was pleased to find that John was clearly aroused, his face flushed, his pupils dilated, and he had to be at least half hard already, judging by the bulge in his trousers. But he still looked rather unsure. It was rather a lot to take in all at once, Sherlock supposed.

  
“We’ll start slow, John,” he said reasonably. “It would make no sense to jump right in at the deep end, I mean, we’re both inexperienced at this sort of thing. Before I met you, I had no desire to have sex with anyone. And now I appear to have a BDSM fetish.”

  
“I certainly didn’t see that coming,” John chuckled.

  
Sherlock chuckled too. “Neither did I. It’s going to take a lot of exploration of fully understand this part of myself that I’ve been ignoring all these years, an awful lot of experiments. It could take a very long time. Are you willing to help me, John?”

  
“Of course,” John said quickly. “Whatever you want, Sherlock. You know I’d do anything to make you happy.”

  
“I know you would,” said Sherlock with a fond smile. “As would I for you. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to begin. This experiment is going to take a lot of planning.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, told you I'd finish it.

It took Sherlock an entire week of careful preparation and planning to finally be ready for his first experiment. Not knowing how long it would all take, he picked a day when he knew John wouldn't need to be awake early the next morning for work. He found John's old army uniform in the back of the wardrobe – the tanned t-shirt, the desert camouflage trousers, the boots, and even the dog tags, just like in his fantasy – and had everything cleaned, pressed and folded neatly on the bed ready for that evening's activities. Sherlock took rather a lot of pleasure in polishing John's boots, especially as he imagined Captain Watson standing over him as he worked, ordering him to scrub harder or he'll be licking those boots clean.

Sherlock may have gotten a bit carried away when it came to ordering the essentials online. He had revisited some of the websites he had used for his research, intending only to order a new riding crop and maybe a set of handcuffs. They were starting slow, after all. But Sherlock just couldn't help adding everything that took his fancy into his shopping cart, completely ignoring the price. In the end he had purchased not only a riding crop and a set of handcuffs, but a leather collar with a leash attached to the front, a silver cock ring, a vibrating butt plug that was as close to the width of John's cock as he could find, a studded leather spanking paddle, a silk blindfold, a ball gag and – after debating with himself for a while about whether he really needed it – a second leather collar with two long silver chains at the back that attached to cuffs. Sherlock also restocked their supplies of condoms and lubricant, and began some preliminary experimentation once all his new purchased arrived at the flat.

He didn't much like the feel of the ball gag in his mouth and decided to forget about it for the time being – perhaps it would feel better under different circumstances – but everything else he had bought was to his liking. He especially loved the new riding crop, the smooth black leather feeling heavenly against his skin. Just the thought of Captain Watson spanking him with it sent shivers of excitement down Sherlock's spine. He was definitely ready for this.

Sherlock sent John a text on the afternoon of experiment day, his fingers trembling with anticipation so much that it took him a few attempts to spell every word correctly.

_Everything is prepared for our first experiment. I'm ready for you, Captain – SH_

The response came much quicker than expected (John must have been on his lunch break), and it left Sherlock feeling rather breathless.

_I trust that you haven't touched yourself today, Holmes – JW_

Sherlock adjusted the growing erection in his trousers, before quickly snatching his hand away as if Captain Watson might somehow catch him.

_No, sir – SH_

His phone buzzed again, and Sherlock had to bite his fist to stop from whimpering out loud.

_Good boy. I'm in charge of your pleasure, Holmes. And I will not have any rule breaking – JW_

John wasn't even home yet and he was already surprisingly good at this. Sherlock texted back quickly, the words 'good boy' making his head swim.

_Whatever you say, Captain Watson – SH_

Time moved at a glacial pace as Sherlock waited for John to come home. He was uncomfortably hard in his trousers, but didn't dare to do anything about it. As exciting as the thought of being punished was, Sherlock didn't want to break the rules this early. He wanted to hear Captain Watson call him a good boy out loud. The desire to be good was almost overwhelming.

Finally he heard the front door being opened, and Sherlock could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He'd been pacing the living room, clutching the new riding crop in his hands, more nervous and excited than he had ever been in his life, but once he heard John's heavy footfalls coming up the stairs he froze. This was it. Would they talk about it first, or just get right to it? John's texts suggested the latter, but John would want them both to be comfortable and relaxed before they started, wouldn't he? This was a first for both of them, after all. Sherlock couldn't believe how nervous he was.

If John was surprised to find Sherlock standing like a statue in the middle of the living room, red faced and holding a riding crop, then he didn't show it. He just smiled as he took off his coat.

"Hello, love," he said casually. "How was your day?"

Sherlock had to clear his throat a few times before he could trust his voice to come out sounding anything close to normal. "Fine. Yours?"

"Not bad," said John. "It was pretty quiet at the surgery today. Is that a new riding crop?"

"Erm... yes," Sherlock mumbled, blushing even harder. "I ordered a few things online for us... if that's okay."

"Of course it's okay," John chuckled, stepping closer to Sherlock and stroking his cheek. "There's no need for you to be so nervous, love. We don't have to jump right into things straight away, you know. We're starting slow, remember?"

"But in your texts..."

"I was just seeing if I could get into character. That seemed like an important part of it for you. I must have done alright if I got you this worked up."

Sherlock smiled, letting John pull him closer and give him a quick kiss. "Mmm, yes, sir. You did wonderfully."

John smirked at the word sir, giving Sherlock another quick peck on the lips before taking the riding crop from him.

"You know, I could do with a nice hot cuppa. Make one for me, would you?"

It was only a polite request, but Sherlock shivered. "Right, of course. Yes."

"Yes _what?"_ John asked. He sounded calm and casual, even with the riding crop in his hand.

"Yes, _sir_."

John smiled sweetly, taking a seat in his armchair and leaving the riding crop on the coffee table. Sherlock glanced at it, before making his way to the kitchen to make John his tea. He worked quickly, wishing that his hands would stop trembling, and even placed a couple of the chocolate biscuits that John was fond of on the saucer. He walked as fast as he could back to the living room to hand John his tea, and then stood rather awkwardly in the middle of the room once John thanked him and took a sip of his drink.

"Don't just stand there, you're making me nervous," said John with a chuckle. "Come here."

Sherlock moved closer cautiously, not wanting to do anything unless John told him to first.

"Kneel," John said gently.

It took Sherlock a second to respond, but eventually he got down on his knees beside John's armchair. John patted his thigh with a reassuring smile, and Sherlock rested his head on John's lap. He sighed as he felt fingers stroking his hair softly, smiling to himself when he heard John whisper "Good boy."

They stayed that way until John had finished his tea and biscuits, Sherlock kneeling in silence, resting his head happily against John's thigh. He was very fond of this position, he realised. It was a very comfortable and nonsexual way of submitting to John. He felt like a pet, purring contently every time his master stroked his hair. He hadn't felt this relaxed all day, all week even, and his arousal had subsided slightly, making him a lot less tense.

"So what else did you buy besides the new riding crop?" John asked.

"A few things, sir," said Sherlock, shutting his eyes as John played with his hair. "Some items to experiment with. They're all in the bedroom, but we don't have to use everything tonight. I also replenished our supply of condoms and lube, and had your old uniform dry-cleaned. I polished your boots myself, sir."

"Wow, you have been busy. I should probably get changed then. And while I'm doing that you can wash, dry and put away my cup and saucer, okay?"

"Yes, sir," said Sherlock, standing up immediately to do as he was told.

It only took about a minute to wash the cup and saucer, and after drying his hands on a tea towel and putting everything away Sherlock resumed his anxious pacing of the living room, waiting for John to get changed into his uniform. He'd been fantasising about this all week, had been in an almost constant state of arousal since he had proposed these experiments, but this was it. This was the real thing. Sherlock heard the bedroom door open, and when he turned around his breath caught in his throat.

Slowly walking towards him with his hands behind his back was Captain Watson, just like in all his fantasies. Sherlock was definitely feeling lightheaded now. It was only the steady gaze of the Captain that was stopping him from falling backwards into his armchair. He didn't want to move a muscle unless Captain Watson told him to first.

"So what do you think?" said John. "I'm not quite as fit as I was back in my army days, but I hope it's the way you imagine it."

Sherlock nodded slowly, just staring. John smiled.

"You have permission to speak, Holmes."

It took Sherlock a few attempts to get the words out, but eventually he said "Yes, sir. You look perfect."

"Thank you. Now, I think we should start with the ground rules. Pay attention, Holmes, because there will be a test. Rule number one: you will only speak when you are spoken to. If you wish to say something when I haven't explicitly asked you a question, you will ask for my permission to speak first. Rule number two: you will refer to me as 'sir' or 'Captain' at all times. If you speak out of turn or fail to show me respect, you will be punished in a manner I see fit. Rule number three: I, and I alone, am responsible for your pleasure. You will only touch yourself when you have my permission. You will only come when you have my permission. Doing either without my permission will result in punishment. And finally, rule number four: remember your safe word, and please use it if at any point you are no longer comfortable with what we're doing. Any questions, Holmes?"

Sherlock shivered, remembering every word, and shook his head slowly.

"I asked you a question, Holmes," John – _Captain Watson_ – said sternly. "I would like an audible response."

"Yes – sorry. I – I don't have any questions, sir," Sherlock stammered. John was already so good at this.

Captain Watson picked the riding crop up off the coffee table, admiring the clean, black leather for a second before tucking it under his arm. "In the bedroom with you, Holmes. Clothes off, and don't just throw them anywhere. I am not tidying up after you."

"Yes, sir."

Sherlock walked quickly into the bedroom and removed his clothes, his shaking fingers struggling slightly with his shirt buttons. He folded every item of clothing and left them in a neat pile on the chair in the corner. When he turned around, Captain Watson was standing in the doorway. As comfortable as Sherlock was being naked the majority of the time, the Captain's unwavering stare was making him shrink into himself a little bit.

"Very nice, Holmes," he said, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. "Now, you said you bought a few new things for us besides this nice new riding crop. Show me."

Sherlock went to the wardrobe and retrieved the box he had kept all his new purchases in. He sat it on the bed and opened it, letting the Captain look inside. The Captain raised his eyebrows, letting out a low whistle as he looked through all the items.

"My, my," he said with a smirk. "You really went to town, Holmes. I hardly know where to start. It's that a _leash?"_

Sherlock cleared his throat, blushing slightly, his prick twitching between his legs. "Yes, sir, it is."

The Captain's smirk grew move devious as he picked up the leather collar and leash, handing it to Sherlock with a mischievous grin. "Put it on."

Sherlock took the collar and put it around his neck, letting the leash hang down his torso. It felt wonderfully tight against his throat.

"Beautiful," the Captain whispered. "But it's missing something..." Captain Watson picked up the handcuffs and stepped behind Sherlock, bringing his arms behind his back and cuffing his wrists together. He delved into the box one more time and dug around until he found the silver cock ring, slipping it onto Sherlock's already dripping erection and making him groan. "There we go. That's perfect. You look gorgeous."

"Thank you," Sherlock said with a little smile before he could stop himself.

"I don't remember giving you permission to speak, Holmes."

Sherlock felt a shiver run down his spine. They had only just started, and already he had accidently broken a rule. And he hadn't even called Captain Watson _sir!_ He felt like kicking himself, but at the same time... he was _thrilled_.

"It looks like the punishment is starting early. It's the only way you'll learn to follow my orders, I suppose. On your knees, Holmes."

Sherlock did as he was told, looking down at the floor as he knew the sight of Captain Watson towering over him would be too arousing to bear. He struggled not to moan out loud as he felt the tip of the riding crop brush against his cheek.

"What is rule number one?" the Captain asked, his voice sounding calm and controlled and _dangerous._

"I must only speak when I – I'm spoken to, and otherwise I have to ask – ask for your permission to speak," Sherlock stuttered, keeping his eyes on the floor.

"And what is rule number two?"

"I must – I must refer to you as 'sir' or 'Captain' at all times. Or I will be punished."

"So you _can_ remember?" Captain Watson said with a slight sneer. "I assumed that a genius like yourself would be able to remember, after all, I only gave you _four rules_. And yet you've already broken two of them. I'm disappointed in you, Holmes. I've told you already, I will not stand for rule breaking."

"Per-permission to speak, Captain?"

Sherlock felt fingers gripping tightly on a handful of his hair, pulling so that he would have to look up. The sight of Captain Watson's hard, displeased face made his stomach flutter.

"Permission granted, Holmes. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry, sir," said Sherlock, unable to stop his voice from shaking. "Please forgive me, it won't happen again, sir. I promise you, I'll never..."

"Empty words, Holmes," the Captain interrupted, his grip on Sherlock's hair tightening. "Actions speak so much louder." He let go of Sherlock's head very suddenly and stepped behind him. "Head to the ground, arse in the air, and spread those legs for me just a little bit."

"Yes, sir."

Sherlock did as he was told, which was a little bit awkward with his arms handcuffed behind his back, but he managed to get into the position that Captain Watson wanted. He wiggled a little bit, trying to get comfortable with his face pressed against the carpet, and whimpered before he could stop himself when he felt the tip of the riding crop stroke slowly down the crack of his arse.

"You are going to receive ten lashes for your indiscretion, Holmes," said the Captain, in a very clipped and commanding tone that made Sherlock's erection throb against the cock ring. "Five for each of the rules you've broken. And after every lash you will say 'thank you, sir'. Failing to thank me we result in a further five lashes, understood?"

"Yes, sir," said Sherlock, his voice stifled against the floor.

The first lash came without any further preamble, a lot harder than Sherlock was expecting. He cried out in surprise, the welt on his arse cheek already stinging, and it felt magnificent. After a little moan of pleasure, Sherlock clearly said "Thank you, sir."

The next lash came, even harder than the last, and Sherlock could only imagine how red and sore his arse would look by the end of his punishment. "Ohh, thank you, sir."

The next lash was even harder still, rocking through Sherlock's entire body. His hands balled into fists behind his back as he breathed through the exquisite pain. "Th-thank you, sir."

The next lash was hard enough to bruise, and the thought alone turned Sherlock on more than he ever thought possible. That was exactly what he wanted. _Bruises_. Physical proof that Captain Watson owned him completely. "Thank you, sir!"

The punishment continued, and after every lash Sherlock would thank his Captain. By the time the tenth and final lash came and Sherlock let out a strangled "Thank you, sir!" there were tears welling in his eyes. His cheek hurt from the friction against the carpet, his whole body ached from the effort of keeping himself upright, and his arse cheeks were sore, burning and stinging and in absolute agony. He had never felt so alive. He yelped in surprised when he felt the leash being tugged on, pulling him back up onto his knees, and he gasped at the sight of Captain Watson. He was still so strong and stern and in command, but he was also obviously extremely aroused, his pupils dilated and his face flush and an enormous bulge in his trousers. The Captain began to work his trousers open, the end of the leash still wrapped around his hand and the riding crop discarded on the floor. Once he released his long, thick, leaking erection Sherlock had to bite his lip to stop himself from moaning.

"You took your punishment well, Holmes," said the Captain. "But you need to show me how sorry you really are. Do a good job of it and I might just allow you to come later on. Now suck it."

"Oh God, yes, sir."

Sherlock lunged hungrily at the Captain's cock, taking the head in his mouth and running his tongue over the slip to lap up the hot beads of pre-come. Fingers tangled themselves in his hair once again and Sherlock hummed around his mouthful as they tugged wonderfully hard. He always loved having his hair pulled. Sherlock relaxed his jaw and his throat, taking as much of the impressive length in his mouth as he could and swirling his tongue, before bobbing his head back and forth and sucking.

The Captain groaned, his grip on Sherlock's hair becoming even tighter as he tugged on the leash, pulling Sherlock's closer. Sherlock got the message and swallowed down every inch of the beautiful cock in front of him, breathing hard through his nose as he tried his hardest not to choke. Saliva was dribbling obscenely down his chin as the Captain began to thrust his hips forward, fucking Sherlock's mouth as he groaned and grunted. Sherlock was starting to gag and choke, tears running down his face, but he didn't dare stop, not when he could tell that Captain Watson was getting close.

Suddenly Sherlock felt his head being pulled harshly back, and his whined in disappointment as he took a much needed gasp of air. He looked up and saw that Captain Watson was red faced and breathless, his eyes dark with lust and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Permission to – to sp-speak, Captain," Sherlock said, his voice sounding scratchy and strained.

"Granted," said the Captain, his own voice a few octaves deeper.

"You were close, sir," said Sherlock. "I could tell. Why didn't you let me finish you off, sir?"

"Because down your throat is not where I want to finish, Holmes," said the Captain, letting go off the leash and Sherlock's curls so he could pull his shirt off over his head. Sherlock sighed at the sight. "On the bed. On your stomach."

Sherlock scrambled to his feet, getting awkwardly onto his stomach on the bed. He groaned and squirmed against the duvet, enjoying the friction against his cock, but stopped moving the moment he felt the bed dip behind him. Strong, calloused hands cupped his sore arse cheeks, rubbing and squeezing and making him hiss with pleasure and pain.

"Spread your legs, Holmes," the Captain said with growl. "I need to get this tight little hole ready for me."

Sherlock spread his legs as wide as he could, breathing hard against the pillow as he arched his back, presenting his arse for his Captain desperately. In his position he couldn't see what the Captain was doing, and that vulnerability felt surprisingly exciting. He heard the bedside cabinet being opened, and the cap of a bottle of lubricant being popped, and gasped as he felt the cold liquid being poured against his hole and smeared against the puckered skin. He gasped when a lube-slick finger was pushed into his hole, quickly followed by a second, twisting and scissoring and stretching. When the third finger was added, curled just right to press against his prostate, Sherlock cried out loudly against the pillow, pushing wantonly back against the Captain's fingers.

"Ready for me, Holmes?" Captain Watson asked.

"Ohh, yes! Yes, sir!" Sherlock cried.

Sherlock could hear the smirk in the Captain's low, growling voice. "I want to hear you beg for it, solider."

Those fingers were stroking and pressing against Sherlock's prostate, his prick unable to do anything more than leak copious amounts of pre-come onto the bed sheets with the cock ring squeezing him. Sherlock felt like he was going insane, his eyes welling up with tears again. It was the most magnificent torture, but when he tried to speak all that came out was a muffled, desperate whimper; a whimper than turned into a hiss when the Captain smacked his arse with his free hand.

"I said beg for it, Holmes!" he ordered with another smack. "Use your words like a big boy or you're not going to be coming at all tonight."

Sherlock took a deep, shuddering breath. "Please... p-please, sir... please, fuck me... fuck me hard, sir... fuck me until I _scream_ , sir, please... I'll be such a good boy for you, Captain, _please_..."

He whined sadly, letting out a sob when he felt the Captain's fingers leaving his hole. He whispered "please-please-please-please-please," like a mantra, desperate and aching, until he felt the Captain's lubed up cock pressing against his hole. Even with all the lube, even though they had done this so many times before, the stretch still hurt. But Sherlock loved it. He loved the stretch, the slow burn as the Captain's thick, beautiful cock entered him, filling him up until he was balls-deep.

There was no slow start, no gentle pace to begin with. The Captain held tightly onto Sherlock's hips and pounded into him with all his might, thrusting hard and fast as he grunted out curses and encouragement. Sherlock pushed back to meet the Captain's thrusts, completely over stimulated by the onslaught of sensations – the Captain's cock pounding into him, hitting his prostate with precision, the Captain's hands holding him tight enough to bruise, fingernails digging into his skin, the handcuffs cutting into his wrists, his arms aching behind his back, the struggle the draw breath as his face was pressed into the pillow – it was all too much, and at the same time not enough. He wanted more, he wanted _everything_. And he desperately needed to come.

He tried to speak, but his voice was lost against the pillow. He moaned as he felt the Captain grab a handful of his hair, pulling him up onto his knees so he was almost sitting on the Captain's lap, bouncing up and down on that glorious length as fingers twisted in his hair and a strong arm wrapped around his middle, holding him up.

"Permission to – ohh, God – permission t-to speak, sir," Sherlock gasped.

"Granted," the Captain growled into his ear.

"Please," Sherlock whimpered. "Please, let me come, sir... oh _fuck_ , please, Captain... _please let me come..._ "

"You've been a good boy for me," the Captain said, stopping his thrusts and pushing Sherlock back down onto the bed. "I think you deserve it."

The handcuffs were taken off, and before Sherlock had time to stretch his arms the Captain was lifting him up, turning over onto his back and hooking his legs up onto his shoulders. Being manhandled by Captain Watson felt amazing. Sherlock grabbed at the bed sheets, throwing his head back against the pillow with a moan as the Captain pushed his cock back inside his slick, open hole.

"Take off the cock ring and touch yourself for me, Holmes," the Captain ordered as he resumed his hard, quick thrusts. "But don't you dare come until I say so."

"Yes, sir," Sherlock gasped, carefully pulling off the cock ring.

He felt like he was going to come almost immediately, but he used every ounce of self control he had not to. He wasn't going to break the rules now, not even with John pounding into him so hard the headboard was banging against the wall. Sherlock wrapped a sweaty hand around his prick, squeezing the base and stroking slowly, shaking with the effort to control himself. He shut his eyes tightly, knowing that the sight of the Captain above him would surely send him over the edge. He felt his leash being tugged on and a hand pulling at his hair.

"Look at me," the Captain ordered breathlessly.

Sherlock opened his eyes, and whimpered at the sight of Captain Watson, face flushed, sweat dripping down his forehead, dog tags gleaming around his neck, eyes so dark with lust that it would have been frightening if it wasn't so incredibly sexy.

"Come for me," he growled. "That's an order, solider."

"Oh my God, yes, sir!" Sherlock cried, stroking himself quickly. "Yes, Captain!"

Sherlock might have screamed. He might have arched off the bed, writhing and thrashing under the Captain. But he wasn't entirely sure. He felt as if an explosion was happening inside him, electricity surging through every vein, so intense that he was only vaguely aware of the Captain coming hard inside him, teeth sinking into his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. He felt like he was about to black out, the pleasure and stimulation more overwhelming than the 7% solution he used to fill his veins with, and it was _spectacular_.

Sherlock was still shaking from the aftershocks at John rolled off him, both of them struggling to catch their breath. He felt like he'd had the walls of his mind palace knocked down with sledgehammers. At that moment, he probably couldn't tell you his full name if you paid him in a thousand locked-door murder cases. His mind felt blissfully calm and empty, devoid of all thought but the stinging pain of the bite on his shoulder, the welts on his arse cheeks, and the sticky mess covering his stomach and leaking out of his thoroughly used hole. He had never been happier.

"Thank you, John," he whispered, hardly able to keep his eyes open. "Thank you... so much... I love you... _so much._ "

"You're welcome," said John, kissing him on the cheek. "And I love you too. You rest for a while, sweetheart. I'm going to run you a bath. Here, let me take that collar off."

Sherlock could barely move, his muscles feeling like jelly, but John managed to take the collar off and quickly clean him up with some tissues. The next time Sherlock opened his eyes he was wrapped in a blanket, the sound of running water coming from the bathroom and John's dog tags around his neck, although he couldn't remember John putting them on him. The chain felt nice around his neck, a wonderful mark of ownership that he'd never of thought of himself. John really was impressively good at this.

But Sherlock still needed more data. As John helped him out of bed and into the bathtub, Sherlock talked aloud to John about the other experiments they needed to perform. Perhaps a test to compare the merits of the riding crop versus the spanking paddle, more variations of restraints, an experiment with the ball gag perhaps to see if it was worth buying...

"One thing at a time, Sherlock," John chuckled. Sherlock sighed contently as John washed his hair.

"Anything you say, Captain."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to write another chapter of this. But here we are.

Sherlock was lying on his back, arms above his head and wrists handcuffed to the headboard. His bare chest was covered in red welts from the riding crop, and he wore nipple clamps joined together by a long silver chain (a new purchase from one of Sherlock's favourite websites). The cock ring was tight around his erection, leaking and twitching against his stomach, as Captain Watson worked the lubed up butt plug in and out of his hole, the vibration turned up to its highest setting. The only thing stopping Sherlock from screaming in pleasure and begging for mercy was the ball gag in his mouth. After weeks of experimenting, Sherlock had grown quite fond of the ball gag – tapping out the word 'NO' in Morse code worked instead of the safe word, but Sherlock had not needed to use either method of stopping since their experiments started. After all, he had a very high pain threshold. And Captain Watson knew what he liked.

Just then, as Sherlock was sure he was about to black out from his desperate need to come, his phone buzzed on the bedside table. He hoped that Captain Watson would ignore it, but instead the Captain got up off the bed, leaving the plug vibrating inside him.

"It's Lestrade," the Captain said, sounding alarmingly casual in just his camouflage trousers and boots. "You're needed at a crime scene. A body has been found in a locked room in a house in Ealing."

Sherlock groaned loudly around the ball gag, rolling his eyes as he strained against his handcuffs in frustration. This _really_ wasn't the time for a bloody case! He had never been less in the mood to solve a sodding murder in his entire life! The Captain smirked, reaching over to pull the ball gag out of Sherlock's mouth.

"Got something to say about that, have we, Holmes?" he asked, clearly amused.

"Sir," Sherlock said, his voice shaking as the plug buzzed against his prostate. "I really can't – oh God – I can't do a case right now..."

"Well, certainly not with that attitude," the Captain chuckled.

Sherlock felt like he was about to burst into tears. "For God's sake, I don't want to solve a bloody murder right now – _AHH!"_

The Captain had given the nipple clamps a sharp tug before Sherlock could finish his tantrum, narrowing his eyes in displeasure.

"I _was_ going to go easy on you, but after that little outburst you are now going to that crime scene, Sherlock Holmes. I don't care if this case isn't interesting enough for you. You're going to get dressed and go solve it, or I'm not going to be letting you come for a very long time indeed. Do I make myself clear, solider?"

Sherlock whimpered as he looked up at the stern Captain Watson, and nodded quickly. "Yes... yes, sir."

The Captain removed the nipple clamps and unlocked the handcuffs, before reaching between Sherlock's legs. Sherlock thought he was going to take the wretched plug out, but instead the Captain simply turned the vibrations down to their lowest setting. It wasn't quite as unbearable as before, but the pressure was still there, especially with the cock ring still on.

"I'm going to take a quick shower and change," said the Captain. "I won't be more than about fifteen minutes, and you better be dressed, presentable and ready to leave by then, Holmes."

"Yes, sir."

Sherlock watched the Captain leave the room, and then quickly did as he was told. Well, as quickly as he could with a throbbing erection between his legs and a gently buzzing plug up his arse. He could smell the musky scent of sex on himself as he got dressed. Every time he breathed in he could smell the Captain on him, and it was intoxicating. His arms still ached from being restrained for so long, his earlier floggings burned and stung every time he moved, his nipples were even more sensitive than normal as they rubbed against the fabric of his tight shirt, and as he bent down to tie his shoelaces he let out an embarrassingly loud moan as the angle of the plug changed, suddenly pushing hard against his prostate. He could feel his cock leaving a sticky stain on his briefs as he tried to adjust it so it didn't tent his trousers so obviously. By the time he was fully dressed, Sherlock could feel sweat beading on his forehead and he couldn't quite catch his breath.

How the hell was he supposed to solve a case under this kind of torment? How was he supposed to concentrate on observing every detail of the crime scene and making deductions when he was so over stimulated, so completely and utterly desperate to come that he wasn't sure he'd even be able to walk in a straight line, let alone think about anything other than how unbelievably strung out he was? This was going to be absolute torture.

Sherlock silently begged his limbs to stop trembling as he pocketed his phone and stepped out into the living room. He tried to fix his hair in the mirror above the mantel, so it looked a little bit less like it had had fingers tugging rather roughly on it for most of the evening. But there was no mistaking just how aroused Sherlock looked – his usually pale complexion was tinged pink, and his eyes were so dark and blown out with lust that he looked slightly frightening. He looked a bit insane, if he was being honest with himself.

He turned around quickly when he heard the Captain's footsteps coming down the stairs, standing to attention even though his hands were shaking at his sides. Captain Watson was dressed casually in jeans and a shirt, but he was still very much the Captain. He looked Sherlock up and down, and gave an approving smile.

"Very good, Holmes," he said briskly, handing Sherlock his coat and scarf. "I do hope you'll be doing as you're told this evening. Just because we're out of the flat doesn't mean the rules don't still apply."

"Yes, sir, of course," said Sherlock, wincing slightly as he moved his arms to put his coat on, and covering up all the love bites on his neck with his scarf. God, his _everything_ hurt.

The long cab ride to the crime scene seemed to go on for years, Sherlock fidgeting and squirming in his seat as the Captain looked out of the window with a small, satisfied smile. When they finally got there, Sherlock had to wrap his coat around himself to hide the bulge in his trousers. The case itself was unbelievably dull, barely a five, he wouldn't have bothered with it at all if he hadn't been following the Captain's orders. It wasn't even a proper murder, for God's sake! It was just a suspicious looking, but completely innocent accident. The room mate who had found the body fancied himself as a bit of a detective, and had blown the entire thing out of proportion. Sherlock was _fuming_. Honestly, Anderson could have solved this case, it was so pointlessly simple!

Sherlock had irritably rattled off deductions to Lestrade at lightning speed, using every bit of self control he possessed just to keep his voice steady. The gentle yet insistent buzz of the plug inside him was driving him insane, and his cock was leaking so much that he wouldn't have been surprised if all that pre-come had started seeping through the front of his trousers. He was so frustrated he wanted to scream, but he hadn't complained once. The presence of Captain Watson was keeping him in line.

To anyone else he just looked like John – perfectly pleasant, making small talk with Lestrade and looking impressed at Sherlock's deduction – but Sherlock knew better. John was still very much _Captain Watson,_ even if he wasn't in uniform. Sherlock could see it in the way he stood, in the way that he cleared his throat and gave him a stern look whenever it seemed like Sherlock was about to go off on an angry rant about how useless Scotland Yard were that they couldn't even solve such a simple case without his help. Even out of the flat, in front of Lestrade and all these police officers, they were still playing. And Sherlock still wanted to be a good boy for his Captain.

Finally – _finally_ – they were allowed to leave, and Sherlock felt like he could have burst into tears. His erection was throbbing in his trousers, begging for attention as it strained against the cock ring, and that insufferable plug inside him was still softly buzzing away, not enough to bring him any real relief but just enough to drive him steadily closer to genuine insanity. Even the breeze as they walked to the main road to hail a cab was making Sherlock's legs wobble, every inch of his skin feeling more sensitive than ever. He didn't know how much more of this he could take.

Before they got to the main road, Sherlock let out a yelp as he was suddenly dragged into a dark alleyway. The Captain had him pinned against a brick wall, his forearm pressed against Sherlock's throat as the other hand slipped slowly down his chest.

"You've been a very good boy for me tonight, solider," the Captain said in a gruff whisper. "Even with such a frustratingly boring case, you still did as you were told and solved it without making a fuss... I'm very impressed with you, Holmes."

Sherlock could do little more than gasp as the Captain's hand cupped his aching erection through his trousers. He thrust up into that hand, desperate for whatever little bit of friction he could get. Captain Watson chuckled, giving Sherlock's cock a little squeeze to make him gasp again.

"I could have you right now, couldn't I?" he said, his voice a teasing growl. "I could take you right here against this wall. I could turn you around, pulled down your trousers, take the plug out of that needy little hole of yours and replace it with my cock. I might even finally let you come. You'd love that, wouldn't you, Holmes? Being fucked up against a wall in a filthy alleyway where anyone could catch us?"

Sherlock shut his eyes as he whimpered. "Oh God, yes... yes, sir... please... _please_..."

The Captain chuckled smugly. "You know how much I love to hear my little whore beg. Lucky for you, I'm feeling a little bit more generous than usual."

"Per-permission to sp-speak, Captain," Sherlock stammered, his voice shaking along with the rest of him.

"Go ahead, Holmes."

"Please, sir, please let me come... please fuck me, right here, right now... I've been such a good boy for you, sir... I've been so patient, and I solved that stupid case even though it was pointless and tedious, and I didn't even complain... I did exactly what you told me, sir, _please, I've been so good, please, sir..."_

The Captain looked up for a second, as if he was thinking about it, and then smirked deviously. "That's all true, Holmes. You _have_ been very patient. You can be patient for a bit longer, I think. I'd rather not fuck you in this dirty alley, but I _am_ going to fuck you. When we get home."

 

Sherlock let out a quiet whine of disappointment, feeling close to tears, but didn't say a word in protest. He knew better. The Captain stepped back, letting Sherlock go, and began to walk out of the alley, Sherlock following at his heels as quickly as his erection would allow. Neither of them said a word as they hailed a cab on the main road, and the silence continued for the rest of the journey.

Sherlock's hands trembled on his lap as he willed the cab to go faster. The journey was a long one anyway but, of course, they were stuck in traffic for a good ten minutes and caught every single bloody red light. _Typical_. Sherlock felt like he was about to explode from the frustration, but the Captain didn't seem fazed at all. When the cab finally stopped outside 221B, the Captain turned to Sherlock with a smirk on his face.

"Be a good boy and pay for the cab. I'll be inside."

He watched breathlessly as Captain Watson got out of the cab and went into the flat. Patience wearing thin, Sherlock threw a handful of notes at the driver without even counting how much he was giving, and got out of the cab as fast as his unbearable arousal would allow. His cock was so hard he had to practically limp to the front door, and the effort to get up the stairs was exhausting. When he finally got into the flat, the Captain was standing in the middle of the living room, hands behind his back.

"Clothes off, Holmes," he ordered curtly. "Don't make me tell you twice."

Sherlock did as he was told with shaking hands, letting his slightly sweat-sodden clothes fall to the floor as quickly as he could. When he was done he stood to attention, awaiting further instruction. The Captain smiled and took a seat in his armchair.

"Go get the lube," he told Sherlock. "And then come back here and take a seat on my lap. And don't keep me waiting."

"Yes, sir."

Sherlock rushed to the bedroom to fetch the half empty bottle of lube that had been left on the bedside table, making his way back on unsteady legs. He handed the Captain the lube, before straddling his lap and bracing himself against the back of the chair. The Captain set the bottle aside on the armrest and cupped Sherlock's arse with both hands, squeezing hard enough to make the riding crop welts and hand shaped bruises from earlier sting. He spread Sherlock's arse cheeks apart, pushing the plug a bit deeper inside him to make Sherlock cry out.

"You've shown a truly remarkable amount of patience tonight, Holmes," he said. "More than I thought you were capable of. You've been such a good boy for me. You deserve a reward."

The Captain reached between Sherlock's legs and turned the plug's vibration up, angling it just right so it was pressed hard against his prostate. Sherlock let out a loud, desperate whine, burying his face against the Captain's good shoulder as he body shuddered with pleasure and pain.

"Undo my jeans for me, Holmes," the Captain ordered in a whisper.

"Yes... yes, sir."

Sherlock's fingers fumbled and shook, but he managed to do what he was told and whimpered at the sight as Captain Watson finally released his leaking, rock hard cock. Sherlock lifted himself up a bit so that the Captain could push his jeans down to his ankles, steadying himself against the Captain's shoulders.

"Keep your hands on my shoulders, Holmes," Captain Watson ordered, picking up the lube and drizzling some onto his fingers. "Don't move a muscle. Not unless I move you myself."

It took a hell of a lot of effort for Sherlock to keep still, but he did as he was told, watching with bated breath as the Captain coating his cock in lubricant. The anticipation was _killing_ him. The Captain reached between Sherlock's legs again, turning off the plug but not pulling it out. Sherlock looked confused, but didn't say a word.

"This plug is rather large, isn't it?" the Captain said quietly, not expecting an answer. "Almost as big as me. But, of course, that's probably the reason you chose it. And you'd had it inside you for hours now, stretching out that lovely little hole. You know how much I love how tight you feel around my cock, Holmes. But I highly doubt you're going to feel very tight now. And where's the fun in that, eh? Tell me, solider, do you trust your Captain?"

Sherlock nodded shakily. "Yes, of course, sir... more than anyone."

"Good. Then I'm going to need you to be a very good boy and trust me now, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Sherlock watched the Captain drizzle some more lube onto his fingers, gasping but not daring to move an inch as those slick fingers slowly traced the rim of his hole, right the way around the plug, before a single fingertip nudged its way inside. The Captain very slowly pushed his finger inside him up against the plug, working it in and out before adding a second and scissoring them. Sherlock had never felt so full. The burn of the stretch was painful, but he relished it. He wished he could push down on the Captain's fingers, but he knew better than to disobey the order not to move, not now that he was finally being rewarded for his good behaviour.

Captain Watson carefully removed his fingers and replaced them with the head of his cock, holding Sherlock's hip tightly with one hand to slowly bring him down onto his lap. Sherlock bit his lip hard enough to break the skin just to stop himself from screaming – he felt like he was being torn in half, the burn and the _pain_ was unbelievable, but he didn't want it to stop. By the time the Captain was fully inside him, his cock pressed right up again the plug, Sherlock had tears welling in his eyes and he was clinging onto the Captain's shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. The Captain circled his arms around Sherlock's waist, pulling him into an embrace and resting their foreheads together.

"Tell me how it feels, Holmes," he whispered. "You have my permission to speak. Tell me how it feels."

Sherlock took a shaky breath, trembling in the Captain's arms. "It feels... sir, it feels... I feel so... _full_... it's perfect, sir... oh, please... please, let me come, sir... _please_..."

"I'm going to take the cock ring off," the Captain said slowly, wrapping his hand around Sherlock's swollen, throbbing arousal. "And you're going to come when I tell you to come. Understood?"

"Yes, yes, sir... thank you, sir."

The Captain twisted his hand around Sherlock's erection, very carefully pulling the cock ring off and leaving it on the armrest. Sherlock took a deep breath, clinging onto Captain Watson's shoulders like they were the only thing stopping him from falling to his death, and used every ounce of strength he had left in him not to immediately come. He'd been right on the edge for hours, hours that felt more like years, but he didn't want it to be over yet... _not yet_.

The Captain held onto Sherlock's hips, lifting him up until only the tip of his cock was inside, before slowly bringing him back down onto his lap. Sherlock whimpered as the Captain moved him again and again, gradually picking up speed. He felt impossibly full, unbearably stretched out, and it was amazing. He never once let go of Captain Watson's shoulders or moved his hips, letting the Captain take complete control and steer his every movement. His only thought was obedience, his only desire was to stop himself from coming until he was told to do so – all Sherlock wanted, with every fibre of his being, was to be a _good boy_.

All too soon, but at the same time not soon enough, the Captain's movements became fast and erratic, messily thrusting upwards as he brought Sherlock down onto his lap harder and harder. Sherlock was dripping with sweat, tears stinging his eyes, his whole body on fire. It was too much. It was not enough. He needed to come, but he didn't want it to end, not now, not ever...

"Oh God, now! Fucking come for me now, Sherlock, that's an order!"

Sherlock screamed, hands clenching onto the Captain's shoulders, twisting into the shirt he was still wearing, bringing himself down onto the Captain's cock with all the force he could muster, and finally came harder than he ever had in his life, his own cock completely untouched.

"Ohh, thank you, sir!" he cried, as he body jerked violently and the Captain came inside him. "Thank you! _Thank you, Captain!"_

It seemed to go on forever, the pleasure coursing through his every vein, every cell of his body screaming out, his mind palace crumbling into dust. He hardly noticed John pulling out of him, or the plug being very carefully taken out. He barely realised when John carried him back to the bedroom and placed his limp body back into their bed. The next time Sherlock opened his eyes, John was cleaning him up with a wet flannel.

"You were _so_ good tonight, love," John whispered softly, kissing Sherlock's cheek. "I wasn't sure you make it through the night, but you we such a good boy for me. You definitely earned these, sweetheart."

Sherlock was barely conscious, but he still lifted his head to allow John to place the dog tags around his neck. He smiled as John covered them both with the duvet and wrapped his arms around his lover, his mind feeling blissfully calm, like the still waters of a peaceful late instead of the usual chaos. He faintly heard John whisper how much he loved him before he finally gave in to his exhaustion and fell asleep against John's chest.


End file.
